


A Path Untaken

by amidtheflowers



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bucky Barnes Feels, F/M, Light Angst, Magic, Mild Horror, Reincarnation, Romance, Slow Burn, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:12:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9365258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amidtheflowers/pseuds/amidtheflowers
Summary: hypnagogic[hip-nuh-goj-ik, -goh-jik] ;state of consciousness, during the onset of sleep. The experience of the transitional state from wakefulness to sleep.Curses and sleeping princes were the kind of stuff you left behind in fairy tales. Darcy knew better.Bucky thinks he deserved this, after all.





	1. A Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> So. Yes. Am I starting another WIP? Yes. Am I out of my mind? Jury is still out. BUT, I have this fic mostly written already and nearly finished, so no need to worry in that department. 
> 
> I have to tell the backstory behind this, because it came from a dream. Well, a sort of nightmare. A Bucky nightmare. And then I told leftennant, who sat with me and talked about the plot behind this crazy dream and then, voila! This fic was born. And it couldn't have been done without her, who is super amazing talented and put up with my rambling and totally enabled this out of me so you can go blame her if you need to blame someone for this story. 
> 
> I also made a cover for this fic, hopefully it adjusts well for mobile users. If not, please let me know!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 

**-:-**

**“Sleep my little baby-oh**  
**Sleep until you waken**  
**When you wake you'll see the world**  
**If I'm not mistaken...**  
  
**Kiss a lover**  
**Dance a measure,**  
**Find your name**  
**And buried treasure...**  
  
**Face your life**  
**Its pain,**  
**Its pleasure,**  
**Leave no path untaken.”**

\--Neil Gaiman, _The Graveyard Book_

**-:-**

The air from the altitude and the quinjet whipped Bucky’s hair into his eyes, obscuring his view of the broken terrain below. Deftly he pulled the hair back and snagged a hair tie from his utility pocket, looping it tightly around his hair.

“You sure about this, Buck?”

Bucky turned to Steve, eyes blank with resolve. “I’m sure.”

Steve glanced at the crumbling fortress below them. “It’s a dead zone. Intel has it on good authority that nearly everything’s already snuffed out. Just one small team left...Nat’s group could cover this. It’s the only base that’s survived.” Steve’s eyes flickered below again. “Barely.”

Bucky shook his head. “I want to do this.” Bucky eyed the trail of shattered brick and cement. “And they have a prisoner.”

A frown tilted down on Steve’s face. “I don’t know if a Hydra witch is really considered a prisoner, Bucky.”

Bucky met Steve’s eyes, slow and deliberate. “Anyone who’s used by Hydra is a prisoner.”

The team was quick, efficient. It wasn’t their first base, but it was going to be their last. Bucky tried not to linger on that thought. A small bloom of hope was easily extinguished; Bucky learned that the hard way. This was no time to be sentimental.

The _potentially_ last base used to be a heavily wooded area, acres of evergreen and pine providing cover for the Hydra fortress. Once a stronghold in the early eighties, decades of turmoil and several targeted attacks from Shield demolished the base to a barren wasteland of dust and ash. Crumbling rocks littering the dead grass and upheaved cement from the ground was all that was left—but Bucky knew better.

The entry to the desecrated base was a hidden panel under an unassuming slab of cement propped against a tree. Bucky pointed his gun at a deadened tree as Steve gestured for three agents to follow him down the panel entry.

Bucky understood, then, why the tiny hideout had survived the destruction surrounding them. “Panic room,” Bucky muttered, lingering in the dim hallway. The walls were made of reinforced steel, able to withstand the some of the worst Shield threw at it. It had survived decades of attack, but from the gathering dust and dented walls, it had not escaped unscathed.

“There’s two more rooms down the hall,” Steve said under his breath. He turned to the rest of the team. “You three, take the first room. You guys take the second.” Steve turned to the solid steel door before Bucky. “You think the prisoner is in there?”

Bucky shrugged, holstering the gun. “It’s how they hid me. Valuable and unpredictable assets are located far away from interference.” Bucky paused. A thrum of… _something_ crawled in his skin and he froze.

Bucky glanced at Steve. “You feel that?”

“I felt it,” said Steve, his voice low. His grip on the shield tightened. “Whoever’s in there knows here.”

Bucky clenched his jaw. Flexing the metal fingers of his left hand into a fist, Bucky reared it back and pounded into the steel door. It groaned loudly upon each impact, denting hit after hit. When he heard a high screech give way from the steel, Bucky moved back quickly as Steve sprinted forward, shield up, and barreled into the door.

Bucky’s gun was up and out in an instant as he jumped into the room, covering Steve. “Dear god,” Steve breathed, his shield lowering. Bucky walked around Steve and felt his jaw slacken at the sight before him.

“Get her…help me get her down.” Bucky moved quickly, shoving his gun in the holster as Steve clicked the shield over his back. His hand flitted over the dozens of wires protruding into her skin, agitated. “I-I don’t know where to start.”

“Will it kill her if we take them out?” Steve looked up worriedly at the woman suspended in the air by ropes of medical wires, tapered into needles and puncturing into her skin, running up her arms to her bare shoulders, and heavily embedded into her back. Her head was hanging down, chin tucked in front of her with long, auburn hair curling down wetly to her hips.

Bucky eyes followed where the needles poked into her spine, staring blankly at the dried blood marks. A sharp memory flashed before him, and Bucky tightened his fists against a shudder. “It’s killing her keeping them on.”

Quickly and carefully, they pried the wires embedded into her arms and legs, and gingerly removed the few that pierced her abdomen.

“What do you think they’re trying here?” Steve asked quietly, waving the set of wires already removed in his hand. “Is…is this what they did to you?”

Bucky shook his head, swallowing hard. “They made me,” he said. “It was different. They kept me in a tank.” Bucky’s eyes flitted up to the woman’s face, obscured by damaged hair. “She was born with power. Hydra covets that sort of thing.” Bucky busied himself with a set of wires into her calf, ignoring the burning stare Steve was sending his way. “Whatever they were doing with her, it wasn’t to preserve her.”

They worked quietly, the only sound coming from shouts and grunts outside of the panic room. “That’s the last of the extremities,” Steve stepped away from the woman suspended in the air. “We have to get the ones out of her back.” Bucky nodded grimly. They stood on either side of her hunched form. A single wire protruded from her neck and a row of wires down the length of her spine, one for each vertebra.

Swallowing hard, Bucky reached forward and carefully pried the one at the base of her neck.

They jumped when the woman convulsed, jostling the wires. A loud _bang_ came from the door and Steve just barely managed to whirl around and whip out his shield when a blast headed straight for them.

“I’ll cover you, get her down!” Steve shouted as he sprinted to the door where a Hydra agent—badly bleeding, but with a spark of fighting spirit still in his eyes—stood unsteadily, a large gun trembling in his arms.

The woman was awake. Bucky cursed, trying to pull out the vertebrae wires without hurting her, but she was gasping and flailing and making the task nearly impossible.

“Calm down,” Bucky muttered close to her ear. “I’m not going to hurt you. Stay still so I can get you out.”

“R…rescue?” Her voice was raspy, weak and hoarse from disuse.

“Yes. Stay still.”

She slumped over once the final wire was out and Bucky caught her. He grabbed the lab coat folded over a metal chair and wrapped it around her quickly. She groaned, and Bucky gently laid her on the floor as he glanced back at the door. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered.

Bucky strode to the door, pulling out his weapon and holding it steady in front of him. The hallway was empty save for Steve, who was lashing repeatedly in the air. Bucky frowned, his eyes narrowing. “Steve…what are you…”

Steve did not hear. The Hydra agent he’d been fighting was gone, as if he’d never been there at all, yet Steve was still ducking and dodging and curling his fist as if in the thick of a fight.

Bucky’s confusion did not last long—suddenly he was thrown back inside the panic room, gun tumbling away to the other side of the room as he slid along the floor and crashed into the wall. The mangled and bent steel door slammed shut. Panting, Bucky turned to the woman.

She stood, her frame trembling weakly, but the deadened gaze fixed on Bucky was unmistakable. He’d seen it so often on himself.

“Hydra has fallen. There can be no more assets.” The words rolled from her lips in seamless Russian.

Bucky sat up slowly, his eyes darting back and forward as he put the pieces together in his mind. “They knew we were coming. They wanted it.” Air blew quietly from his lips, and Bucky almost smiled at the irony. “It was a trap.” His eyes flickered around the panic room, now reinforced shut with magic. “For me.”

The woman stared at him. “There will be no more assets.”

“I’m not an asset,” Bucky replied, inwardly curling up at the Russian tongue ingrained in his memory. “Neither are you.” Bucky tilted his head, looking at her curiously, then glanced up at the wires hanging to his right. “What were they doing to you in here?”

“Our time is up.” With trembling fingers, the woman raised her hand and aimed at Bucky’s chest, and lifted the other to rest over her own heart.

“I’ve known those like you,” Bucky murmured. If he could get her to remember as he had remembered himself, those many years ago...an idea struck him. “You have a code you live by, right? All witches do.”

She did not answer but she did not move either, staring at him. Bucky pressed further. “I know them, as you know them deep down. ‘ _Courage and honor endure forever_.’”

“Stop.” She sounded uncertain.

“I’m right, aren’t I? ‘ _When the mountains have crumbled to dust_ —’”

“ _Stop it_.”

“You’re not an asset,” Bucky said forcefully as he dared to stand, watching the woman’s outstretched hand shake violently. “You’re free now. Come with us. We could—we could take you back, wherever you call home. Back where there’s more of your kind—where they can heal what Hydra has done to you.”

Her lips pulled back into a scream as she turned her outstretched hand away from Bucky and to her own chest instead.

Bucky’s eyes went wide when he saw her starting to glow brightly, as if bursting at the seams. Light emitted from every inch of her, her mouth parted and her eyes wide and blaring light from them.

Somewhere between the blast of light and Bucky closing his eyes, Bucky understood what they had been doing to her.

Bucky dropped his arm from his eyes once the violent light receded. The witch crumpled to the floor. Bucky walked over and pressed two fingers to her neck, sighing when he felt a pulse weakly press against them.

“Failed my last mission,” he heard her wheeze, and Bucky’s eyes snapped up to her face. He was struck by the clarity in them, no longer blank and deadened. “Fucking typical.”

“Why did you do that?”

The witch snorted, but it came out as a soft huff of breath. “Had to blast it somewhere…was supposed to kill you, Soldier…supposed to kill us both. No more assets.”

“No more assets,” Bucky echoed. A panic room, just for her and Bucky’s annihilation. He glanced up at the dangling wires behind him. “They were pumping you with energy.” He frowned down at her. “The wrong energy, until you’d explode. You’re not a light witch at all, are you?”

She grimaced. “They didn’t really care…about that fact. In the end, it’s all the same. We die.”

“You didn’t,” Bucky said quietly. “You spared me.”

The woman blinked up at him. “You made me remember…” Her mouth twisted. “You didn’t let Hydra take that away from me.” Her eyes settled on him, no longer fluttering with the pain of impending death that Bucky could almost smell on her. “I owe you a debt.”

Bucky shook his head slowly. “I don’t need it.”

Her fingers pressed against his temple before he could stop her. Bucky jolted, breath coming out in rapid gasps as he stared at the witch with wide eyes.

“You returned my life to me,” the witch said softly, but he felt the words reverberate in his mind. “For that…” her eyes flickered, as if reading. “You will be given life.”

“I told you,” Bucky struggled to say, trying to move away from her but his muscles were locked, unable to move an inch. “I really don’t need it.”

“I give it willingly.” The witch tilted her head, and Bucky grimaced as he felt a tug in his mind. “Guilt consumes you,” she breathed, sending icy shudders down Bucky’s back. “So shall you rest until you’ve made amends.”

Bucky’s eyes rolled back, falling into darkness.

**-:-**

Steve blinked hard as the Hydra agent he’d been fighting suddenly vanished. His fist was still held high in the air, ready to fight. Stepping back in confusion, Steve let his hands drop.

“Captain?”

Steve glanced to his left. His team stood in a row, sharing equal looks of confusion. “What…?”

“We got the two agents bound and gagged. We’ve been trying to cross the hall for near twenty minutes,” one of them explained, shuddering slightly. “Was like an invisible barrier stopped us.”

Steve blinked rapidly and looked back at where the Hydra agent had vanished. Fear curling in his stomach, Steve whirled around to the panic room.

The door was closed but Steve had only needed to give it a swift kick before it easily swung open. His eyes went first to the wires dangling loosely in the center of the small room. Then he glanced to Bucky.

Bucky stood quietly, hands at his sides in loose fists. The girl—the witch—was lying prone by his feet.

“Is she dead?”

Bucky’s head lifted. Slowly, he turned to face Steve. The look of terror made Steve stride forward and clutch Bucky’s shoulder with worry. “She didn’t kill me.” Bucky blinked slowly, as if in a daze. “I think she cursed me, Stevie.”

**-:-**

Four hours in medical showed nothing except elevated levels of stress—nothing uncommon when coming straight from a mission, according to the physician. Steve watched Bucky uneasily the entire time, glancing every so often at Wanda.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” the physician told him, snapping his file shut. “There’s no magical traces in your system, no dark matter. Medically, there’s no evidence that a curse has been placed on you, Mr. Barnes.”

“But he said he heard her say it,” Steve looked worriedly between the physician and Bucky, hunched over on the linen cot as he shrugged his shirt back on. “She said the words.”

“I don’t know what she said,” Bucky mumbled, pressing his fingertips to his temple, staving off the impending headache. “I can’t be sure. And she spared my life and sacrificed her own, Steve. Doesn’t sound like something a witch would do if she wanted to hurt me.”

“Bucky. The first thing you said to me was that she’d cursed you.”

“I don’t remember,” Bucky gritted out. The metal plates clicked hard where his clenched his left fist.

“I can look for you, if you are comfortable with it,” Wanda offered quietly from where she sat next to the examining cot. “After you’ve had your rest.”

Bucky turned to Wanda and gave a small smile.

When they discharged Bucky, Steve clapped him on the shoulder as they walked to Bucky’s suite. “Get some sleep, Buck,” he smiled. “Tomorrow we’re gonna celebrate. Last Hydra base taken down.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed, as if trying to remember something on the tip of his tongue. He sighed and shook his head instead. “Doesn’t feel like it’ll ever be enough.”

Steve went still. “Bucky…”

Bucky forced a smile. “Relax, punk. You go get your beauty rest too. You’re starting to look more and more like that little kid from Brooklyn. Haggard ‘n shit.”

“You’re a jerk, you know that?”

Bucky was still smiling when he closed the door to his suite behind him. The lethargy hit him suddenly, then, the day finally catching up with him; Bucky cracked a large yawn and crawled to the bed—how did he get here so fast? The thought flittered and disappeared as he rolled onto this back. Rest, yes, he would…he would rest…

Bucky fell asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.

And slept straight through the next day, and the day after that.

Bucky Barnes did not wake for three months.

**-:-**

** Chapter 1 **

**-:-**

“Okay, just say it.”

Darcy pressed her lips together. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Darcy, I know you’re thinking something and it’s very loud and distracting so you might as well just say it,” Jane said matter-of-factly as she held the scanner up to the mansion before them.

Darcy looked like she would try denying it for half a second longer, but quickly gave in. “Okay but this is too close to home—two women get new, amazeballs jobs, fully funded with an outrageously high starting salary, at a mansion in the middle of nowhere, owned by a mysterious benefactor—”

“Tony Stark is hardly mysterious,” Jane muttered under her breath.

“—and surrounded by acres of trees and do you remember that contract we had to sign? If you think we’re living longer than one week in this gothic fantasy wet dream you’re lying to yourself.”

Jane sighed and stuffed the scanner back inside her bag, jostling it against the other set of equipment buried in there. “You wanted to come here, Darce.”

“I know.” Darcy stared up at the mansion again, taking in the cobbled path and the dark brick, and the single turret facing the west side of the mansion. It felt old, older than what the exterior boasted—Darcy took a deep breath and looked away. “I can’t explain it, Jane…it just felt right. Like I’m _supposed_ to come here. Does that make sense?”

Jane looked at Darcy, her eyes soft with understanding. “Actually, yes. It’s…it’s what made me go to New Mexico. The science was there. Barely, but it was. Yet…it was more than that.” Jane shrugged. “And then I met Thor.”

“And then you met Thor,” Darcy echoed, glancing up at the mansion again.

Darcy would never be able to explain it—she could hardly understand the impulse herself. Jane and Darcy had made it their priority, after the last three years of clusterfuck after clusterfuck with the news and the calamitous destruction of most major cities, to never, _ever_ partner with anyone remotely associated with Shield, Avengers or otherwise. And while this put a bit of a bump with their relationship with Thor, Jane had been adamant and Darcy only too happy to agree.

It was, after all, the way Darcy operated. She went where her instinct took her—it was what made her apply to Jane’s internship, it was what made Darcy _accept_ Jane’s internship instead of the very well-funded acceptance offers she’d received from places that would actually relate to political science.

And it was, inevitably, what brought them here.

Darcy’s mind went to when the offer came to Jane, ripping open the letter with a bit of burnt toast still dangling between her teeth while Darcy sat at the dilapidated counter of Jane’s kitchen, eyes closed and a mug of steaming coffee in her hand.

Darcy remembered it as a blur. Of opening her eyes, peering at the letter while Jane babbled on about _never Stark_ and _not Shield my ass_. Of Darcy blinking once and saying, quite plainly to Jane, “Let’s do it.”

And Jane, who had witnessed Darcy willingly provide input of their next destination only one other time, stopped short. She’d stared at Darcy for a second before answering, “I’ll make the call.”

“You have to admit,” Jane started, pulling Darcy away from her thoughts, “it’s quiet here. That’s definitely going to help my brain work.”

Darcy’s mouth slipped into a smile, and she ran her hand affectionately along Jane’s shoulder. “Nice and quiet place for your noisy brain to work well.” Jane nodded eagerly. Darcy inhaled slowly and turned back to the mansion. “Let’s do this. I swear if a butler opens the door and asks us to wait with a room full of richly dressed blue bloods, I’m out before the powerlines get cut.”

“There’s a reference somewhere in that.”

“Yep. Ooh look, a fancy doorbell.”

Darcy’s finger barely brushed against the brass before the door swung open.

By itself.

“Uh…” Darcy peeked inside hesitantly when nobody came to answer.

“Foyer’s impressive,” Jane noted. Jane was right. It had a chandelier and everything.

“ _If you’d come in, please_ ,” a cool voice crackled at the intercom, startling Darcy who was standing closest to it. “ _Mr. Stark is waiting for you_.”

“Sure thing,” Darcy said uncertainly, “Miss…?”

“ _I_ _am Friday. Sir is waiting._ ”

“Oh, well, if sir is waiting,” Jane muttered quietly, and Darcy covered her snort with a bracing cough.

They walked together through the front door, arms filled with bags and suitcases and looking more weary than they felt. Darcy could practically feel Jane’s excitement radiating off of her.

Suddenly something strong, like a jolting wave of pure energy, _tugged_ through Darcy. She gasped, faltering, the bags dropping from her arms and her fingers releasing their grip on the suitcase handles, staggering forward and nearly tripping over them. The feeling was warm and pouring through her and Darcy’s heart was pounding hard and her vision narrowed to a single stream of distance she needed to go—

“What’s wrong with short stuff over there? She seizing already?”

Darcy blinked hard. Several times. Her vision slowly cleared and saw a man in a fitted shirt and mirrored sunglasses peering at her with vague curiosity, vague distaste. Jane’s hand was gripping Darcy’s shoulder hard, shaking her slightly.

“Darcy?”

“I’m fine,” Darcy mumbled, shaking her head to chase away the strange sensation still lingering in the back of her mind. It wasn’t gone, not completely. Darcy swallowed hard and forced an unaffected look before turning to the man. “I’ve seen you on the news. You’re taller in person.”

“Really?” The man balked, but was secretly pleased with the way the unpleasantness in his eyes shrank to tiny pinpricks, now replaced with renewed interest. “Even with the suit on?”

“Suit doesn’t count,” Darcy shrugged.

“Thank you for inviting us here, Mr. Stark,” Jane interjected, holding out her hand which Tony Stark graciously shook.

“Honor’s mine, having your mind here working with me. God knows I’ve been trying to get you here since Shakespeare’s lost golden retriever first dropped in Ye Olde Forsaken Desert.” Tony glanced at Darcy, who was concentrating very hard on standing still. “She always like that? Is this going to be a thing?”

“No, she’s not—I don’t know why she’s…? Darcy. _Darcy_.” Jane said loudly.

Darcy ripped her eyes away from the winding staircase on the left and looked at Jane. “Hu—what?”

“It’s the travel, it took very long to get here,” Jane explained, glancing quickly at Darcy with a worried look before turning back to Tony. “I know you wanted to go over the, um, work, beforehand but I think we might need to get some rest first. If that’s alright…?”

Tony nodded, shrugging lightly. “Sure. Rest. I’ll show you your new place and we’ll talk along the way?”

Tony waved them away from their bags when they tried bringing it up with them, telling them the butler would bring it up (Jane ignored the pointed glance Darcy sent her way). He showed them the staircase on the east wing that led straight to their rooms, chattering with Jane the entire way. Darcy didn’t listen, could hardly pay attention to anything except the noise buzzing in her head, like a cacophony of wind gliding around her and…pushing her closer, the very thing she’d felt numerous times before. Except now it was stronger, _tangible_.

Darcy’s feet moved on her own as Tony’s voice grew distant down the long hallway. She found herself dragging her fingers along the side of a tapestry in the hall and pulling it away, revealing a door. The ringing in her ears grew louder. Darcy pushed it open and found a spiral staircase.

The pull grew stronger as Darcy walked. She could feel her fingertips thrumming, itching to touch something…another door? Darcy blinked. The staircase had ended and she stood now in front of a door. How did she get here?

But she was here now, and she might as well just open the door, right? She’d come all this way. And the pull was strong. It felt right.

Darcy reached for the doorknob.

A hand clamped down on her wrist and she was face-to-face with Tony Stark. The easygoing sarcasm was replaced with a hardness in his eyes, staring down at her darkly.

“You better start explaining yourself, Darcy Lewis,” Tony said quietly. “How did you get here?”

Darcy shook her head slowly, confused, fighting to clear the cobwebs in her mind. “I…I don’t…I just found it.”

Behind him, Jane was glaring. “It’s a damned door, Stark. Let go of her.”

Tony ticked up a brow. “That’s where you’re wrong, Foster. This door is unplottable. Concealed. She should never have found it, I made _sure_ of it.”

Jane’s mouth parted in surprise, taking a step back. “Magic? Actual magic? You do know we’re in California, right? You can’t use concealment enchantments in private domain.”

“Thank you, Susie Cubscout. Good thing I’m kind of part of the government, huh?”

Jane narrowed her eyes. “Convenient. And you know witches.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Uh, _duh_. Don’t you watch the news?” He turned his attention back to Darcy. “Are you one too? You here to fuck shit up?”

At this, Darcy’s head cleared up a bit. She furrowed her brows. “What? I’m not—I’m not a witch. And that’s a really shitty way of talking about them especially if you say you’re friends with some.”

“Still didn’t answer me. How did you find the stairwell. To this room.”

Darcy twisted free from his grasp, scowling up at him. “I _did_ answer. I just found it. I don’t know how. Jesus, you’re acting like I tried robbing you—I’m sorry I found your stupid door.”

Tony said nothing as he ushered Darcy and Jane down the stairwell, where he closed the door behind them and tapped twice on it. Darcy gaped when the door promptly disappeared, as did the tapestry.

“Before you get any ideas, I’m not one. I just know one that keeps failsafes,” said Tony as he took in the look of surprise on their faces. “And that brings a change of plan. Lewis has been acting weird the second she got here. I have questions.”

“No, she needs sleep,” Jane crossed her arms beside Darcy. “We’re tired, Mr. Stark. That’s all this was.”

“Sorry, not up to you,” Tony gave a sarcastic little smile.

“ _No_. We’re tired. You can ask all your questions once we get some rest. Darcy’s not going anywhere. You can ask her later.”

Tony’s jaw ticked, fingers twitching at his side, before turning back and showing them to their rooms. If Jane was surprised he gave in that easily, she didn’t let it show.

Jane practically shut the door in Tony’s face once he pointed out which rooms were theirs. Darcy sagged on the bed, resting her elbows on her knees and pressing her hands against her face. Her head was pounding hard and it hurt like _hell_.

“Ugh, Jane,” Darcy mumbled against her hands. When no response came, Darcy let her hands drop and looked up.

Jane stared at her. “What the hell was that, Darcy?”

Darcy could only stare back as words came and went from her mind, failing her. She settled on, “I honestly don’t know.”

Jane swallowed visibly. “He wasn’t wrong. I didn’t see that door to the stairwell until Stark opened it. It was enchanted. God—witches? Do you think they’re living here? That doesn’t even matter. What the hell is going on, Darcy? How did you find that door? And then the _second_ door?”

Darcy shook her head slowly. “It’s all a blur, Jane. I just felt this… _pull_. Like I had to go there. I had to walk up those stairs and stop in front of that bedroom door. It makes no sense! How _did_ I find that first door?”

“Are you sure you’re not…?” Jane raised an eyebrow, leaving the question hanging.

“I’m not,” Darcy said firmly. “I know I’m not.”

Her voice brooked no argument, and Jane sagged down on the bed next to Darcy. “Well, we know one thing,” said Jane. “Stark was really freaked you found that bedroom. Whatever’s in there, it must be really important.”

Darcy nodded absently, wondering what exactly Tony Stark was hiding desperately enough to conceal with enchantment.


	2. A Nightmare

**-:-**

**Chapter Two: A Nightmare**

**-:-**

Tony Stark stared at Darcy intently from behind his coffee mug.

“We do background checks too, you know.”

Darcy stared back, pressing the edge of her skirt against her knees. “I know. And fingerprinting.”

Tony’s jaw ticked. “I know about your family.”

“Doesn’t everyone know about my family?”

The small, opalesque device sitting atop Tony’s desk beeped three times. Tony reluctantly broke eye contact and reached for the device, checking the reading. His eyes flicked back to hers, tinged with disappointment.

“I told you I’m not a witch,” Darcy said tightly.

Tony snorted, taking a short swig of coffee while tossing the device away, sending it clattering on the desk. “Must suck to be the only kid in an ancestral line without an ounce of magic. Is that what it is? You take some supplemental shit and scope out hotspots?”

Darcy scowled. “If this is going to be a problem, I’ll withdraw my application.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“I was under the impression you and Foster were a package deal.”

“Not if we work on independent projects.” Darcy shook her head. “I didn’t hide this part of my life on the paperwork. You _knew_ I had a family history. It’s never…this has never happened before. I’m sorry for getting past your barriers, Mr. Stark, so if this is going to be an issue—”

“It’s not,” Tony interrupted her. At Darcy’s dubious look, Tony sighed and set the mug down on his desk. “Your work is too important. And I did know about the witchy family history when recruiting you. Made sense why your research is focused on what it is, and why I hired the both of you in the first place.”

Darcy watched as Tony leaned back in his chair, swiveling around and steepling his fingers like he couldn’t sit still any longer. “I do want to know what went through your head when you found the door, though. Scientific anomaly, you see. And under my own roof.”

Darcy held back a tired sigh, and nodded. “It was as if I got tunnel vision and then I was walking. Following something. I don’t know, I don’t understand it.”

“Huh.” Tony stared off somewhere over her shoulder. She could practically see the gears turning in his head. “You like heartache, Lewis?”

“What?” Darcy started to smile disbelievingly, but Tony’s regard was perfectly serious. She cleared her throat. “Uh, not really.”

Tony made an indistinct noise, looking increasingly distracted. When the silence stretched longer than comfortable, Darcy said, “So…that’s a no on firing me, then?”

“Yup. That’s all. Go start your thing now with Foster,” he waved her away, already jumping up from his seat and striding towards the door, holding it open for her. As she neared the threshold, Tony said, “If you feel that pull again...I’d be careful.”

Giving Tony a strange look, Darcy folded her arms and left his office.

**-:-**

“He asked you about _heartache_?” Jane said incredulously. Darcy held back a snort.

“He scanned if I have magical energy with his own tech. Can you believe it? He was cryptic as fuck. I’m telling you, there’s something really fuckin’ weird going on around here. I’m starting to feel suspicious about why exactly our boss funded us.”

“Well, we _are_ the nation’s only scientists researching sentience in magnetic fields and topological wormholes,” Jane noted, smiling proudly stroking their latest machinery. Darcy made a noncommittal noise. Jane reached over to pat Darcy’s hand. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Darcy. Stark has access to magic, and all the other things he’s been involved in the last decade. If he really considered you a threat do you really think he’d let you sleep overnight? Let alone let us work under him?”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Darcy chewed on her lower lip. “It’s like now he wants me here… _because_ of what happened last night? He went from being suspicious to curious.”

“I mean, it makes sense? You saw through his enchantments and found a secret door.” Jane tilted her head. “He must be really want this thing hidden, whatever it is.”

“Yeah…” Darcy suddenly felt a faint tug in the back of her head and closed her eyes, gripping the desk hard. _No you don’t_ , Darcy thought firmly. She could almost feel the sensation wilt in frustration.

“You’re grinding your teeth,” Jane noted as she scribbled something in her notes.

“I’m stressed,” Darcy muttered, but loosened her jaw. “Also, question. Are we the only ones working in this manor? I haven’t seen anyone else yet. Did Stark mention having colleagues while I was blindly following the magic trail of doom?”

“He didn’t, and don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“Deflecting.” Jane peered at Darcy from across the room with an unimpressed look. “Yeah, yeah, I should stick to science. Can you grab the readings?”

Darcy crossed over to the machine to her left that was freshly printing the morning data. “You know, you’re not _really_ my boss anymore. Partners should once in a while do the readings.”

“But you’re so much better at catching anomalies than I am,” Jane gave Darcy a wide-eyed, innocent look that didn’t fool Darcy for a second. She grabbed the printout once it finished and walked over to her worktable, spreading out the data. “Ah, the sweet scent of ink and coffee,” Darcy sighed. “Feels like the good old days.”

“You mean just last week?”

“Mm.” Darcy’s gaze flickered over the data and paused. “Heeeeey, Jane? I think you should see this.”

“Hmm? Oh, right,” Jane stopped writing and walked over to Darcy’s side, peering at the data. “Oh. _Oh_ my god. Darcy, the delineator. The delineator, Darcy!”

Darcy scrambled around their equipment, most of them still in boxes around the laboratory. “Wonky triangle thing, wonky triangle thing…” she muttered under her breath.

“Darcy!”

“It’s not here, it’s—” Darcy paused in her frantic search, staring at Jane. “Wait, didn’t you put that in your overnight bag before we came here?”

“God, yes, I did.” Jane frantically bounded for the door but Darcy stopped her.

“Hey, no, you have to batch the second readings before the frame shift ends! I’ll get the thing, you do the writing thing.”

“Right, right, yes, batch the core data—”

Darcy left Jane muttering and rapidly jotting down numbers on a notepad as Darcy threw open the lab door, bolting down the hallway and back into the entrance hall. Taking the stairs two at a time, Darcy rounded the corner and back to their rooms. Sifting through Jane’s bag, Darcy grinned when she found the delineator. “Wonky triangle thing!” she cried happily.

As Darcy flew out the room, across the hall and to the winding staircase, Darcy’s sense of triumph came to a screeching halt when, upon turning the last corner, she collided smack into a solid wall.

The wall made a noise of surprise and with lightning fast speed, caught Darcy by the elbows before she could fall. She was quickly settled upright and heard a sincere, “Ma’am, I am _so_ sorry.”

“It’s nothing—” Darcy looked up, and could not stop the knee-jerk reaction of her jaw dropping. “Oh boy. Captain America. You’re a lot taller in person. You’re like, six inches on T.V. usually—I mean!” Darcy wanted to smack her head. And she did, with the hand that was holding the delineator. “Ow, fuck! Sorry. I—sorry!” Averting her eyes and ducking away from the good captain and straight to the staircase, Darcy never noticed Steve Rogers’ jaw agape in utter disbelief, staring after her in the hallway for five entire minutes before whispering a quiet, “Oh my god.”

  
**-:-**  


Darcy opened her eyes.

Jane was snoring softly in the other bedroom. Darcy stared at the carved, wooden top of the four-poster bed before sitting up, slipping off the bed, and padding barefoot out of her room.

The manor was quiet. Moonlight spilled through the high-arched windows along the corridor as she swept along the plush carpeting, following the tug in her mind quietly beckoning her…she lost count the amount of turns she took, until she stood before a plain oaken door with a brass doorknob.

Just as her fingertips were about to graze the knob, Darcy blinked. Inhaling sharply, Darcy curled her fingers into a fist and stumbled backwards, pressing a hand to her mouth. She swallowed hard and glanced around, noting the empty corridor and a discarded portrait Darcy had seemingly pushed aside to find the door. Quickly replacing it, Darcy stumbled back to her room.

In the shadows, a watchful figure retreated in the opposite direction, golden hair reflecting in the moonlight.

**-:-**

“This isn’t. Coincidence.” Steve Rogers glared hard at Tony, his fingers gripping the leather armrest of his chair with restraint. “It’s _her_.”

Wanda glanced between the two men in equal parts exhaustion and wariness. Tony shook his head.

“How can you be certain? I didn’t even think this kind of thing still happened. Does it still happen?” Tony looked at Wanda.

Wanda frowned. “What do you look at me for? How would I know?”

“Because you’re all…” Tony mimed a poor imitation of Wanda’s hand movements with an exaggerated flourish. “Don’t all witches know this sort of thing by nature?”

“This has nothing to do with magic,” Wanda said plainly, picking off lint from her cardigan. “And you forget, Stark, I was not born with my power. I was not raised on spiritual lore.”

“It’s her,” Steve said forcefully. “Jesus, even her name is the same! She keeps finding his room, Tony. Isn’t this what we were hoping for? To find a way to break the curse?”

“How do you know she won’t make it worse? We know nothing about this girl,” Tony retorted.

“You hired her.”

“I did. As a professional. This is—god, this is way too much. What do you want me to do, Cap? March to her door—?”

“Let Wanda drop the lock,” Steve said quietly. “Let Darcy in. At least…at least let us see what happens. It’s _her_ , I know it is.” Tony was silent. Steve continued, lowering his voice, “Everything has led up to this moment, right now. Why we came to this manor, why Wanda and I are here; why you just happened to hire two researchers who incorporate the influential properties of magic in science. She could do it, Tony. We need to let her through.”

“He has a point,” said Wanda. “Not to make this attempt is…” Wanda shrugged. “Foolishness.”

Tony looked between Steve and Wanda. “If something happens to Sleeping Beauty because we rushed into this without doing our research first, I blame you both entirely.”

**-:-**

Darcy’s eyes were closed as she nursed the steaming mug of coffee in both hands, wrapped around the porcelain as if it held the answer to all of her problems, pending and otherwise.

The _otherwise_ of it was beginning to leave a mark on Darcy’s functionality, for the number of nights Darcy found herself aimlessly wandering the many corridors of Stark’s manor were now officially beyond count. No matter how hard she fought it, no matter how often she attempted to drag her mind away from the strange, mystifying feeling that inadvertently brought her to the same oaken door every night, it made no difference.

The need to wander had only grown stronger with each attempt to reign it back—not that Darcy knew she even could, and had endured an excruciatingly painful phone call with her great aunt inquiring if Darcy maybe, possibly had some sort of latent magical ability that modern scanners could not pick up and only emerged in adulthood. The fifteen minutes of laughter in response pretty much settled that question right away.

Darcy heard the swinging door to the kitchen creak open, thinking Jane had finally gotten up.

“Are you alright?”

Darcy opened her eyes in surprise. A young woman, with rimmed eyeliner and long hair curling down her back, stared back at her. A woman, in the last few years, Darcy has seen several times alongside the Avengers.

“Oh yeah, yeah,” Darcy shook her head, forcing a smile. “Don’t mind me.”

The woman’s mouth twitched. “Forgive me. I meant only you seem tired. Though a researcher likely has many important things to do to enable it.” Darcy watched as she opened the fridge and poured herself a glass of orange juice, then settled down across from her at the kitchen table. “Wanda Maximoff.”

“Darcy Lewis,” Darcy held out her hand, and Wanda smiled brightly as she shook it. “And yeah, I kind of already know who you are.” Wanda blushed. “Do you work here too?”

Wanda laughed. “Oh no no, I’m a friend of Tony’s. Though I suppose it’s kind of like working for him as well.”

“You know my research, then?”

“You are the first he has ever recruited to this manor. You must have noticed it is not a traditional research facility.”

“Oh, definitely not,” Darcy agreed, taking a small sip of coffee and licking her lips at the bitter aftertaste. “The vaulted ceilings and baroque architecture kind of gave it away. My room has a four-poster bed. It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s a place for comfort and visual beauty than science,” said Wanda. “But I think there’s a little balance here.”

“So is this like…I’m sorry, but a week ago I literally ran into Steve Rogers, so I have to ask.” At Wanda’s encouraging look Darcy continued, lowering her voice to a whisper, “Is there some sort of…Avengers thing happening? Is that what this is? I genuinely never thought working here would mean I’d see any of you, especially not Tony Stark. This is a lot more hands-on than I expected.”

“It’s just us three. Nobody else comes to this manor,” Wanda said serenely.

“But you’re the Scarlet Witch. You—” Darcy paused. “You…you’re a witch.” Wanda’s face went carefully blank. The dots connected in simultaneously in Darcy’s mind with one fell click, and she wanted to kick herself. “Listen…if this is about the…the door…”

Darcy paused again, waiting for a response. Wanda merely stare back inquisitively. When it became clear Wanda wasn’t going to say anything, Darcy cleared her throat and made to stand up. “I’m sorry about all this weird…I’m gonna go now. Lots of work to do. It was nice meeting you. Real sorry, again.”

“I can take you there, if you like.”

Darcy froze. Wanda carefully set her glass down and folded her arms atop the table. “What?” Darcy managed to say, but it came out a hoarse croak.

“To the door. You obviously are meant to be there. It is why you are so exhausted. And I suspect the cause of your headaches when you try to resist?”

“You know?”

“Of course I know. That’s my enchantment you’re getting past every night.”

Darcy swallowed thickly. “And you didn’t…Stark hasn’t said…?” Wanda waited patiently for Darcy to finish, but Darcy could only stare in shock. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m sorry, it was lovely to meet you, I’m sorry. I just—just want to do my research, publish a paper, and go from there.” Darcy stood awkwardly between the door and the table.

Wanda stood, draining the rest of her juice before turning to Darcy. “It will be waiting,” she said softly, and left Darcy alone in the kitchen.

**-:-**

Darcy opened her eyes.

Jane was snoring loudly in the other bedroom. Darcy stared at the intricate, wooden top of the four-poster bed before sitting up, slipping off the bed, and padding barefoot out of her room.

It was easy this time. No drafty corridors. Just a door, leading to a spiral staircase into a tower, the lonely turret of the manor. The stone steps were cold on her feet, but Darcy hardly noticed.

The stairs ended. A single oaken door with a brass knob stood before her. This time, Darcy’s fingers did not shake.

She opened the door.

Her hair whipped back as a draft of wind caught her, fluttering the nightgown around her knees. Darcy’s eyes slid to the wide window fixed on the left end of the tower.

The tug in her mind pulled her forward, smooth as silk now whereas before it had been singed, pleading, burning. Her eyes drank in the sight before her: a four-poster, twice as large as her own with richly purple pillows and a satin comforter draped over a man lying in the center of the bed, fast asleep.

The pull in her mind silenced, vanishing as if it had never been there at all. Darcy blinked several times, knowing exactly how she’d gotten here and horrified it had happened, mystified at her own lack of self-control. Was this what she’d been drawn to the whole time? What Stark had been trying to keep hidden away?

Darcy’s eyes returned to the sleeping man before her with a sharp intake. Dark hair framing his face, sharply angular features with a mouth etched into a permanent frown, and what appeared to be a metallic left arm glinting in the wan moonlight pouring into the room.

Her heart pounded hard in her chest and she nearly stumbled back, but was frozen in utter disbelief. Darcy knew exactly who this man was.

Inexplicable magic be damned.

Darcy had only taken one step when she stopped again. Turned back to the man on the bed. The Winter Soldier, the news channels had called him. James Buchanan Barnes as Darcy had studied him in school. And an anomaly she would call him as she’d discovered him.

Darcy swallowed, staring at his sleeping form. Her fingers uncurled on their own. Slowly, tentatively. Closing the last bit of distance, Darcy gave in to the urge to brush her fingers against his skin, skimming her knuckles softly down his cheek.

At the simple touch, Bucky Barnes sighed quietly, lips parting.

“I knew it.”

“Holy shit!” Darcy yanked her hand back and whirled around. Steve Rogers was sitting in the corner of room, watching her silently. “You’ve been here the whole time? Why did you—why did you let me near him?”

Steve stood slowly, holding himself off as if not to alarm her with his towering frame. “He hasn’t moved in three months. That, what you just did? First time he’s ever done that.”

Darcy turned back to Bucky, watching him breathe evenly. A hundred questions were flitting in her head—why was this happening, why was Steve Rogers waiting for her, like he expected her to be here tonight, why were they in a tower—but instead, Darcy asked, “What happened to him?”

“Do you know who he is?”

 Darcy scoffed. “Of course I know who he is, I’m not an idiot. What happened to him?”

Steve shrugged a shoulder, his eyes flickering to his friend. “A witch cursed him on our final mission to take down Hydra. He’s been like this ever since.”

“And he never wakes up?”

“No.”

Darcy frowned, looking down at the sleeping man in question. It seemed cruel, to be forced into sleep again after all the shit he’d been through already, and Darcy only knew the half of it from what she gathered the last few years he’d made the news.

She felt Steve watching her from the corner of her eye, and when she caught his gaze he held it steadily. His eyes were soft, as if remembering something.

“Can I help him?” Darcy asked. Because what was the point of having a strange, inexplicable pull towards a cursed ex-assassin if there would be no benefit to it?

And because Darcy kept looking at Bucky in the same strange, familiar sense that Steve continued to watch her.

Steve smiled.

**-:-**

Darcy hardly noticed Steve mutter quietly into his phone, or the door open three minutes later.

“Where’s Tony?” Steve said under his breath.

“Emergency call to New York,” Wanda answered, gaze flickering over Darcy as she wandered to the window.

“Seriously?”

“It was Natasha.”

That seemed to be answer enough. Darcy moved away from the window and turned to Wanda and Steve. “So what exactly is the plan here? Are you going to do something?” Darcy asked Wanda.

“Yes. His inability to wake himself up is the root problem. We’ve tried others but no one has been able to convince him.”

Darcy narrowed her eyes. “You mean he’s not waking up on purpose?”

Steve shook his head. “Yes and no. Wanda let our minds link—it’s part of her magic—and Bucky...is trapped in his own head right now. Saw me and didn’t believe a word I was saying. I thought seeing me would pull him out, convince him he can wake up, but…” Steve’s jaw tightened. “Guess that’s part of the curse.”

“But,” Darcy shook her head disbelievingly, “you’re his best friend. If you couldn’t wake him up, why would I be able to?”

Steve regarded her for a long moment, looking to be working up to say something, but Wanda pressed a hand to his arm and spoke softly in his stead. “Whatever brought you here to him and let you break through my enchantments despite having no magic, will probably be the answer. I don’t know why or how you can help. But fate decided you would find him. I have no answers beyond this.”

Darcy’s eyes lowered back to where Bucky was sleeping. “Okay,” she said softly. “So, I’m going to…go into his dream? And help wake him up?” Wanda nodded. “Right, I can do that. Magic is wild. God. This is not….no, I won’t think about that. So should I sit, or…?”

“You may be there for a long time, it’s best to lay down beside him.”

Darcy swallowed, pressing her lips together. Carefully she settled on the bed beside Bucky, making sure not to jostle or disturb him in anyway. She laid stiffly, clasping her hands together over her ribs, waiting.

“You will need to touch him, skin-to-skin, for the connection to work,” Wanda told her.

“Oh! Ah,” Darcy bit her lip before shifting her hand down, staring at Bucky’s hand. Hesitantly, she held his fingers. Darcy looked back up at Wanda. “This okay?”

Wanda nodded, smiling. She exchanged a wordless glance with Steve before turning back to Darcy and gently leaning forward, hands raised.

“Will it hurt?”

Wanda paused. “No. It will not hurt.”

Darcy looked down at the hand in her grasp, warm and soft. “Will it hurt him?”

Something shifted in Wanda’s eyes, and she said quietly, “He is always hurting.”

Darcy’s heart panged in her chest. “Are you ready?” Wanda asked her.

“Yes. Yes, I’m ready.”

“When you want to wake up, you need only think it strongly and you’ll be back here.”

The last thing Darcy saw was Wanda leaning over her before falling into darkness.

**-:-**

She was in an apartment. A cramped one. Darcy was standing in front of a tiny kitchen, a cylinder of ladles and wooden spoons in all different colors propped atop the refrigerator. The sink was old but clean, as were the dishes in the drying rack. There were newspapers covering the windows, blocking out the light. Darcy narrowed her eyes, squinting at the words. Not English. Turkish? No, no, definitely not.

Romanian?

If this was a dream, it was remarkably vivid. Darcy could see everything in hyper-realized detail, refined and brighter than any reality she had ever dreamed. Even when conscious nothing ever seemed this vivid. It even smelled vivid. She could catch a strong whiff of chocolate somewhere in the room. Humming, Darcy turned around.

The scream that left Darcy’s mouth was loud enough to hurt even her own ears, the sound reverberating strikingly against the walls of the small studio apartment. Darcy stumbled backwards into the kitchen counter and squeezed her eyes shut, shaking all over as she shrieked, “Oh my god, oh my god, _oh my god!_ WANDA!”

Hundreds upon hundreds of souls, spirits of the dead that Darcy had never seen before but had heard tale upon tale from her mother, grandmother, aunts—had seen depictions of in the spellbooks tucked away in the attic of her great aunt’s home—were crowded inside the apartment, nearly corporeal and hovering before her. Darcy shook badly as she grappled against the edge of the sink willed herself to wake up but sheer terror overriding any coherent thought.

“I can’t do this, get me out of here! Oh my god, oh my…” Darcy’s eyes darted to the covered up windows, clawing at the newspaper and tearing it off. Her breath stilled when she saw a vast emptiness beyond the window. No tree, no building, no sky. It was a white vacuum of nothing.

A dream. This was a dream. _Bucky’s_ dream. Remember. Darcy took a shuddering breath and closed her eyes, slowly counting backwards from ten. The shaking of her limbs slowed, her breathing evening out. Darcy took several calming breaths before opening her eyes again.

The spirits were still there, hovering all around the apartment but leaving the smallest bubble of room where she was standing in the kitchen. She could hear faint whispers from them, so faint and fast Darcy couldn’t catch at all what they were saying. They also were paying no mind to Darcy whatsoever, as if she wasn’t standing right behind them. It was then that she noticed a soft moaning coming from the crowd of ghosts—spirits—souls? But no, that wasn’t right, she was standing close to them and it wasn’t coming from them…

Darcy drew closer, and the spirits seemed unperturbed at her advance. She swallowed thickly. “Nothing can hurt me,” Darcy said to herself. She lifted her chin. “Nothing can hurt me here. This is a dream. Nothing will hurt me. _Nothing_.” Darcy took another step. The spirits started to drift. Another step. Another. Another. They parted for her like the sea, a disturbing sight within the context.

She frowned when she finally caught sight of a small bed, her heart stuttering to a stop when she saw Bucky Barnes huddled on top of it. His knees were drawn to his head, arms wrapped around himself and hands clutching his head. He was rocking back and forth, moaning under his breath. Darcy drew closer, glancing warily at the spirits around them as they closed off the path Darcy had walked through.

Once she was close enough, Darcy spoke. “Bucky?” Carefully, slowly, Darcy crept closer until her knees brushed against the bed. She glanced down and cursed inwardly for still being in her nightgown, pulling it tightly over herself. “Bucky?” Darcy tried again, biting her lip. “God, what am I even doing here…”

Tentatively, Darcy settled on the edge of the bed. Bucky didn’t notice, didn’t so much as lift his head. She tried his name in several different ways before considering touching him. God, this could go horribly wrong. Horribly, terribly, wrong. But the comfort of this being a dream helped. Darcy didn’t think she could sit here, surrounded by fake ghosts, if she knew this was real. “Thank you _god_ for not making me a spirit witch. I take back every bitter word I said growing up. I do _not_ want the Sight like the rest of my family. Nope.”

Gently, Darcy slowly reached forward and stroked back some of Bucky’s hair. That was usually comforting, wasn’t it? She did this a few more times, each stroke slower and softer than the previous. Darcy’s heart soared when she noticed Bucky was no longer rocking back and forth as much until he slowed to a stop. Darcy shifted closer, trailing her fingers from his head to soothe down his back in gentle sweeps. It was when she was this close, close enough realize he was not moaning but chanting a single thought over and over, that she heard him say, “ _It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault_. _It’s all my fault_.”

Darcy moved on instinct, his soft, fractured words unbearable to her heart. “Bucky, no. It’s not. Nothing is all your fault. Nothing is all anyone’s fault. Unless you’re the U.S. government, because then yeah it’s probably all their fault. I’m joking. Shh, honey, _shh_ ,” Darcy let her voice pitch to the same softness and sweetness she’d use when her friends would be in distress. “ _Shhh_...”

Darcy almost stopped her soothing strokes along his back when Bucky slowly lifted his head. His eyes were red, cheeks hollowed and sunken in as if he hadn’t gotten a moment’s rest in months. He was no longer muttering under his breath and instead took a deep, shuddering inhale and exhale. “That’s it, Bucky,” Darcy encouraged, continuing to sweep her hand down his back. “You’re okay. You’re alright.”

Bucky finally turned to look at her. He stared at her for several long moments, all the while Darcy continued comforting him. This wasn’t like what Steve described his experience to be. Was this working? Was Darcy actually going to get Bucky to wake up after three months of cursed sleep?

Bucky looked at Darcy intently. “Did I kill you?”

The hand sweeping down his back paused. “Nope,” Darcy said softly. “I’m alive and well.”

Bucky closed his eyes briefly, sighing. His jaw was working, and Darcy watched it tick with confusion. How could that upset him? “I did. I killed you and everyone else here.”

Darcy glanced around at the spirits, now barely a whisper amongst them. “I don’t think you did, Bucky.”

“I did. I killed every single one of you. There’s Stevie,” Bucky nodded to a small, frail boy standing forlornly in the back.

Darcy shook her head. “Steve’s alive and you know that already. He doesn’t look like that anymore.”

Bucky shook his head. “And there you are, over there.”

Darcy followed where he was pointing and froze.

“Oh my god,” Darcy faltered, eyes going wide. “Oh good god, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—”

“I told you, I _told_ you…” Bucky groaned, gripping his hair hard with his hands and squeezing his eyes shut as Darcy gaped at the spirit image before her.

Her. It was _her_.

She was different—dressed different. Hair styled and cut short, just brushing her shoulders. Fitted dress. Penciled eyebrows, ruby lips, a drawl to her mouth Darcy had inherited but never quite pulled off the way this woman could.

How?

How?

“Okay,” Darcy breathed, tearing her eyes away from the Other Darcy and back to Bucky. “Okay, well, no, that’s not me—I’m right here and I’m alive. Fuck.”

“I killed you all,” Bucky said quietly, “and this is my punishment. They’re here to haunt me.”

“No you goddamn didn’t kill all these thousands of people in this room—look over there!” Darcy pointed to one standing nearby. “That one has a turtle head for a face. No goddamn way you killed a turtle man. And that other one is Greta Garbo, I’m pretty fucking sure you didn’t kill Greta Garbo. Come on, Bucky, snap out of it. Look,” Darcy jumped off the bed and Bucky’s eyes snapped to her. “They’re not real spirits. Let me tell you something. My family? A whole goddamn ancestral line of witches. Every single woman. You know what the Lewis brand of magic is? _Spirits_. I’ve read about them. It’s a whole other life of mine that I have inside of me. And you know what? These?” Darcy marched up to one drifting by Bucky’s bed. “These are _nothing_. This is fake.”

Darcy shoved her hand through one and it went straight through the translucent body. “Look! A real spirit would be pissed now. This one didn’t even bat an eye! They’re not even saying anything, they’re supposed to be like, taunting you. Throwing shit around. Moving all your furniture two inches to the left so you spend a whole day stubbing your toe. This. Isn’t. Real. Also, again, here is Greta Garbo. Who you totally did not kill. I think that should be reason enough to believe me.”

Bucky seemed to be letting her words sink into him, for a frown was working its way on his mouth and his brows were knit together. “I didn’t…I…didn’t.”

“No,” Darcy said gently, moving back to settle next to him on the bed. “You didn’t.”

Bucky exhaled shakily, closing his eyes.

The spirits vanished. The apartment was now empty and silent, and much warmer than it was a few moments ago.

Bucky’s eyes rolled back and he sank into the mattress. Darcy startled when the apartment started to fade around them.

“Jesus—wake up! I need to wake up! Now!”

**-:-**

Steve and Wanda jolted when Darcy took a sharp, gasping breath and her eyes flew open. She dropped Bucky’s hand and scooted off the bed immediately, stumbling to her feet.

“Are you alright? What happened? Is he okay?” Steve asked worriedly, hands itching to reach forward but kept them firmly at his sides.

Darcy stilled. She rounded on him and Steve was taken aback at the venomous glare she was giving him. “Why was I already in his mind?”

Steve froze. Wanda had gone still beside him as well. “Darcy…”

“There was someone there who looked like me. A memory. He had no idea what it was or who I was, but I was already there in his mind. Why. Was. I. There.”

“Show her.” Darcy’s eyes snapped to Wanda, who had spoken quietly. “Show her, Steve.”

Darcy watched as Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn, yellowed photograph and held it out for her. Darcy stared at it in shock.

Bucky Barnes, sometime very early in his life when his hair was cropped short and he was grinning ear to ear with his arm slung around the woman Darcy had seen in his mind. The woman with Darcy’s face, Darcy’s smile, Darcy’s everything.

“What is this?” Darcy was shaken. She looked at Steve in horror and disbelief. “Who is she?”

Steve pursed his lips. “Her name was Darcy. Darcy Lewis. She was Bucky’s fiancée.”

“No,” Darcy shook her head fervently, “no, _I’m_ Darcy Lewis.”

“You are. So was she,” Steve refolded the photograph and put it in his pocket. “Do you understand what that means? Do you understand now why…why you kept breaking Wanda’s enchantment to find Bucky?”

“I’m…I’m his…we’re…” Darcy shook her head, a thousand words popping in her head to fill the gap but the disbelief was too strong, the desire to turn and leave this behind as if she’d never come here overwhelming her.

“Soulmate. You’re his soulmate. And you’ve finally found each other again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUN!
> 
> Almost there, guys. It's all making a bit more sense, slowly...
> 
> I've affixed how many chapters there will be, so we're halfway there! There may be one extra chapter, but I'm pretty sure 4 will be the magic number here. And also, my muse is back! Hooray! It had to take a tiny break from writing. Real life got really sucky really fast.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who read, kudo'd, or commented last chapter. You all are wonderful Let me know what you think of this concept so far! I know it's a bit different but I promise, this will be worth it xx
> 
> All mistakes are my own and will be fixed ASAP xx


	3. A Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In dreams, the second time around.

-:-

 **Chapter 3:** A Vision

**-:-**

Pale, hooded eyes stared back at Darcy as she grazed her finger over the worn photograph. She traced the shape of them over and over; the same flecks on the iris, the same sloping lid. The same tiny constellation of freckles on her left cheek, all mirroring back at Darcy like a cosmic taunt.

“The picture isn’t going to change, you know.”

“I know,” Darcy said without looking up. “She’s pretty.”

“She looks like you, Darcy. Of course she’s pretty.”

Darcy didn’t reply. The sofa dipped as Jane sat down beside her, and she could feel Jane’s look of concern burning through her shoulder.

“Are you going to see him again?” Jane asked tentatively.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to?”

“I don’t…know.”

“It’s only a photograph, Darcy.”

A short, humorless sound escaped her. “It’s only my soulmate. No big deal. Not like that hasn’t happened in forever.”

“That’s not true,” Jane countered. “There’s hundreds of documented cases where couples traced back lineages and found their reincarnates. It still happens.”

“That’s different. That’s two lovesick people reaching for a divine reason why their relationship is the be-all, end-all, and some sea urchin on a sketchy website digs through some family records and patches together a reincarnation story. It’s not actually _real._ ”

“It is real,” said Jane, frowning at Darcy. “Your family is full of witches— _spirit_ witches, for god’s sake. How can you not believe in soulmates?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe in them,” Darcy fiddled with the photograph between her fingers, biting her lip. “You know I do. It’s just…this can’t be happening. How can this be happening, Jane?” Darcy swallowed hard as she stared at her reincarnate, her hand folded into Bucky’s. “Some part of that guy’s mind remembered me. Her. Remembered her. Two, in one lifetime.”

Jane went silent. Darcy glanced at her, frowning. “Jane?”

Jane turned to the ceiling as if bracing herself for what she would say, and with the way she was pursing her mouth to the side, it was reluctant. “You know what we talked about before? How I felt a pull to Puente Antiguo, and then Thor fell from the sky?”

“Yeah…” Darcy paused. Her eyes went wide as she stared at Jane. “Jane…Jane, is he—?”

“He is.” Jane glanced at Darcy. “I hardly think about it, but he is.”

“…He’s been alive for a very long time.”

“He has.”

Guilt washed over Darcy. “You never told me,” she said weakly, and her hand automatically reached over to cover Jane’s. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know,” Jane said quickly, forcing a smile. “I just…it was hard to process, you know? He’s been alive for centuries. He didn’t realize at first, because we’re so,” Jane gestured at herself, “different? But he put it together pretty quickly. We both realized—you feel it, you know? It’s why he’s made it his life mission to keep this world safe. Stuck with the Avengers. He never wants another reincarnation to happen. Frankly, neither do I.”

Darcy absorbed this information with trepidation, forcing her expression to stay neutral as her mind jumped from one thought to another, each one more confused than the last. Jane rolled her eyes. “Just ask, Darcy, I know you want to.”

“How many has he met? Were they all human?” Darcy asked suddenly, before wincing. “I’m so sorry. Honestly, you don’t need to answer that.”

“No, it’s okay.” Jane took a breath. “I’m the fourth. They weren’t human, and there was a name variation—Jeyne, Jani, you know?”

Darcy nodded, expecting that one. Name variation always happened, it was rare to find an exact match. Unlike her.

She wanted to ask more, her heart aching with questions—did he love them all the way he loves her? How much time did he have with Jane’s incarnates before they perished?

“You said he wants to stop the reincarnation cycle,” Darcy started slowly. “How does he plan on doing that? How do you even stop a reincarnation cycle?”

Jane shook her head, giving a half-shrug as she picked at her thumbnail. “I’m not sure. It’s something Asgardian—or at least, nothing of this realm. And a reincarnation cycle ends when the soulmates bond. Basically.”

“Bond? What does that even mean? Is that code for sex?” Darcy frowned. “Did you and Thor bond? I know for a fact you two have had a tons of sex. At very inconvenient times and places.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “It’s not just the sex. It’s—I don’t know, Darcy. You just know when it happens. It like…like being complete. It’s when you can live out your life together, that’s when the cycle ends.”

“You know, for a scientist you’re awfully forgiving of this non-factual based reincarnation mythology.”

“ _Right_. As if my life’s work isn’t considered ‘non-factual based mythology’ by everyone in my field.” Jane snorted. “It’s nothing I’m not already used to.”

Sighing, Darcy glanced down at the photograph again. Her eyes skipped over the reincarnate and landed on Bucky. He was grinning, his eyes crinkling and a look of pure delight transformed his face into boyish glee. They were standing behind a worn building, probably somewhere near his home. Bucky’s arm was draped around the woman’s shoulders, holding her tight to himself as if she belonged there with him, in that moment.

Darcy refolded the photograph, looking away.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Jane regarded Darcy for a moment. Then, quietly, she said, “You said yourself your whole life you’ve felt this pull to things, instinctively. It’s what made you sign on to this project. It’s what brought you to me.” When Darcy looked up, Jane was smiling a little. “Don’t you want to know what the universe has been leading you to?”

**-:-**

Steve and Wanda were sitting at the kitchen island when Darcy walked in. Steve straightened immediately and his mouth parted to speak, but before he could get a word in Darcy held up her hand. “Just, listen first.”

Steve nodded, settling back. Darcy took a shaky breath. “I’ll still help your friend. It seemed to work, and hopefully if I go in there a few times he can pull himself out of whatever’s keeping him trapped.”

Steve nodded, glancing at Wanda. Darcy reached inside her pocket and took out the folded photograph, placing it carefully on the counter.

“That,” said Darcy, “will have to wait.”

“Whatever you are comfortable with,” Wanda assured her firmly. “Helping Bucky is priority, and what you signed up for. That is what we will do.”

“Great. I’m, um—I can do it now. I just clocked out of work, so…I think we can make this a routine, if that’s alright.”

Wanda nodded, offering a warm smile. “That is more than alright.”

As Wanda stood to lead them out to Bucky’s tower, Steve carefully reached for the photograph. Gently, he smoothed the crinkled edges and held it out to Darcy.

Darcy shook her head immediately. “I can’t take that.”

“It belongs to you more than it ever has to me,” Steve said, holding it out further. “Keep it.”

Darcy opened her mouth to protest. She caught a glimpse of the picture under the folded edge, a flash of Darcy’s own eyes. She took the photograph from Steve and tucked it in her pocket again, then followed him out of the kitchen.

Bucky was exactly as she remembered him the night before. Eyes closed, face smooth, and lying deathly still on the silk bedspread. There was something that went beyond haunting when she gazed at him, beyond the cloud of shadow that was cast over him, bringing something visceral inside Darcy as she watched him breathe evenly. It almost felt…felt as if a part of her was aligning with a part of him.

She moved instinctively. Darcy brushed back a few dark strands of hair from his eyes, letting her fingers graze the smooth skin of his forehead. She froze when Bucky sighed, just as he did last time. When he shifted his head a little to lean into her touch, Darcy snatched her hand back.

Steve and Wanda stared at her. Darcy cleared her throat. “So, just like last time?” Wanda nodded, and Darcy took a steadying breath. Carefully, she crawled on the bed next to Bucky, mindful not to disturb him. She fluffed up a pillow and shifted so she was leaning against the headboard.

“The point of contact,” Wanda reminded.

“Right.” Darcy glanced over Bucky before gently reaching for right hand and linking their fingers together in her lap. She didn’t miss the way they were both roughened by work and delicately soft, warming her fingers in their touch. His fingers slowly returned the grip.  

“Is this…does that only happen with me?” Darcy looked between Wanda and Steve. “Him reacting to me touching him?”

Steve nodded. “So far…only you.” The unspoken words hung in the air between them: _because you’re his soulmate._

Wanda leaned over Darcy, her fingers outstretched towards her temples just as she had last time. Just before the familiar curtain of darkness fell over her, her eyes flickered to Steve. He stood in the corner of the room, watching them with a look that was unmistakably concerned.

**-:-**

She was on a highway. A bridge, to be exact. It was deserted and the sun was blaring high in the sky, making Darcy squint as she tried getting her bearings.

Bucky was nowhere in sight. “Uh…” Darcy did a full turn, trying to catch a glimpse of him, but nothing. “This is new. Okay.” Clearing her throat, Darcy began walking down the highway.

It was odd, exploring Bucky’s consciousness without him actually there. It felt intrusive, like she was seeing the deepest, most private parts of his mind without his consent. Darcy tried not to pay too much attention to where she was in light of this, not that there was much to see anyway.

“Bucky?” Darcy called tentatively. No sign of him. Just the endless walk along the bridge. Darcy sighed. “Bucky,” she said loudly. “Bucky, Bucky, Bucky….Wherefore art thou— _oof_.”

Her foot tripped over something hard and fleshy, and Darcy staggered a step. A hand jerked away, and she narrowed her eyes as she followed the hand on the road up to an arm, a body, then to long tufts of brown hair fluttering against the wind.

Part of the bridge rail was broken. And in that crevice Bucky sat, wedged between two pillars with his feet dangling over the edge.

Cautiously, Darcy knelt down beside him. “Bucky?”

He didn’t respond. His gaze was fixed on what was below the bridge, and Darcy followed his line of sight. An array of overturned cars and a smashed bus lay before them. Smoke unfurled from the vehicles like misted vines, yet no sound came from below. It was an eerie and cold sight, enough that it made Darcy shiver and wrap her arms around herself.

Bucky exhaled quietly, his body hunching as if breaking from a trance. He glanced at Darcy, finally noticing her kneeling next to him. Slowly his eyes took her in, lingering on her arms clutched around her middle.

“You again,” said Bucky.

“Me again,” said Darcy. “You remember me, then?”

Bucky’s eyes continued to wander, flitting over her before dragging back to the scene below the bridge. “You a test or something?”

Darcy blinked. “Uh, no. I’m not a test.”

“Sounds like something a test would say.”

Darcy’s lips twitched. “Yeah? You talk to a lot of tests lately?”

“Yes.”

Well, then. Darcy wanted to kick herself. “Well, I’m not one. A test. I’d be a terrible one if I was, I can’t even imagine. Probably something like making you do a pie-eating contest and, yeah, I’m getting super sidetracked.” She exhaled. “I’m just here to help wake you up. It seemed to sort of work last time.” She peered at him uncertainly as he continued to stare at the road below them. “Is something supposed to happen here?”

Bucky glanced at her. “Shouldn’t you know?”

Darcy raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t exactly get a pamphlet when I got here. Where are we?”

Bucky stared at her warily, this time fully focusing on her. Darcy could almost feel it, feel his mind perusing her, trying to understand. The sky above started to change, the sun slowly enveloped by thick, looming clouds.

“You’re familiar.”

Darcy swallowed. “I’ve just got that kind of face,” she answered coolly. “I swear I’m just here to help. You’ve been stuck here for a while, man. Do you remember what’s happening to you?”

Bucky’s expression turned grim. “I’m cursed.” He turned to the smoking bus and indicated it with an upwards tilt of his chin. “This is my hell.”

Darcy glanced at the bus, then slowly back to Bucky. “And what happens in your hell?”

Just then, a loud crash came from below. She snapped her attention to the smoking bus and saw, to her intrigue, Steve Rogers wielding his shield like body armor and fighting off a man dressed entirely in black with a mask and infrared goggles obscuring his face—a man Darcy recognized to be the Winter Soldier.

Beside her, Bucky took a sharp breath. Darcy looked at him warily. “Are you alright?” He didn’t answer. Hesitantly, Darcy placed her hand on his shoulder and shook him lightly. “Bucky?”

Darcy yelped in surprise when in the blink of an eye, she moved from the top of the bridge to mere inches from the battle scene by the bus. Bucky was standing beside her and she tore her hand away from his shoulder, stumbling several steps back as Bucky’s memory—the Soldier—aligned his grip on a blade and began swiping it expertly at Steve.

“Shit,” Darcy hissed under breath. Bucky was staring at her strangely. “What is this?”

“Shouldn’t you know?”

“No I _don’t_ know, that’s why I’m asking. Why do you keep saying that?”

But Bucky, as she was starting to expect, did not reply. Swallowing hard, Darcy waited and watched the scene unfold before them and tried to understand.

It happened fast. One minute they were fighting, the next the Soldier was picking himself up off the asphalt, glaring at Steve. He was unmasked, mouth set in a grim line as Steve’s eyes widened and said, “Bucky?”

The Soldier stared back, disaffected. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

A look of confusion came over him. Darcy glanced at the Bucky standing beside her. His eyes had gone glassy and distant, and Darcy took a small step towards him. “Hey. This is just a memory. You’re okay.”

Bucky glanced down at her, frowning. “I know I’m okay. Tell it to the curse.”

Darcy blinked. “What?”

A gasp tore from her when suddenly they were on the bridge again. “Jesus! Does this thing not give _warning?”_ Darcy glared, but it slowly slipped from her face when she glanced below the bridge. “Oh my god. You’ve got to be joking.”

The dream had reset. They were back on the bridge, watching the battle between the Winter Soldier and Steve unfold once again.

Darcy turned to Bucky. “How long has his been happening?”

Bucky leaned against the bridge rail, resting his elbows on the concrete. “This would be number twelve.”

“Twelve…twelve times. You’ve seen this memory play out twelve times?” Darcy watched the fight below escalate again, the very same way it had the first time.  “Didn’t you try stopping it?”

A flash of annoyance crossed Bucky’s face, and for the first time he turned to fully face her. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

“I’m here to help you—”

“Wake up, I remember,” Bucky cut her off, a scowl setting between his eyebrows. “Question is why. And who. The hell. Are you?”

“Darcy. My name’s Darcy. As for why…” Darcy pursed her lips. “You buddy Steve asked me to help you get out of this.”

“You know him?” Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“Not…not exactly. I work in the same place he does. He asked me to see if could get you out of here. From what happened last night, I think we’ve got a fighting chance.”

Bucky looked away, eyes flickering in deep thought. “You were the girl. With the ghosts.” He looked up at her. “You talked to me.”

“I did,” Darcy smiled.

Bucky’s gaze hardened. “Then you know what happens. I’m never going to leave here.”

“But you left that ghost dream, didn’t you? You’ll get out of here,” she insisted.

Bucky shook his head. “It never ends. I leave once place just to end in another. Forever. I will be here forever.”

“No, you won’t.” Darcy crossed her arms. “You’re getting out of here. Starting with this,” Darcy turned back to the fight below. “Come on, we’re fixing this.”

**-:-**

Darcy moaned and leaned against the bridge rail when the dream reset again. “Not _again_.”

“I did warn you.”

Darcy shot Bucky a glare, who was currently inspecting his fingernails as he turned his back to the fight below the bridge. “You could at least try.”

“Try what?”

“I don’t know! Do something different? Haven’t you thought about how to break out of these cycles? Jesus, how long were you in that ghost dream before I got there?”

Bucky said nothing. His apathy grated on Darcy as she stared him down. No, she couldn’t think like that. She was getting distracted by her own emotions, and this wasn’t about her. Closing her eyes, Darcy inhaled deeply. Her approach wasn’t working. They went through the memory over and over and nothing she said or did was getting Bucky out, let alone getting him to cooperate.

“Alright, new plan. Let’s go.”

Darcy wrapped her fingers around his wrist and gently tugged him along the bridge highway. When he didn’t budge, Darcy turned back at him. Bucky was staring at her hand oddly. Darcy dropped his wrist. “Sorry, that was rude of me. Let’s get going, though, okay?”

She started walking. Hopefully he would follow. Otherwise she’d be doing this on her own and really, that helped no one. When she heard footsteps follow behind her, though, Darcy felt a flare of relief in her chest and she slowed her steps to catch him up.

Several minutes passed in silence as they walked along the highway that seemed to never end. It _did_ end, though, because Darcy could see a horizon and a traffic stop. She wondered how far they’d be able to go.

“Where we going?”

His voice was low, gravelly. Darcy nodded at the horizon. “We’re seeing how far this place goes.”

She could feel Bucky staring at her. Darcy glanced up, shrugging. “It’s a dream, right? It’s got to end somewhere. When I was in that apartment last night, there was nothing outside the windows. Maybe exploring the place will help you out of here.” Darcy squinted at the signs hanging above. “Is this D.C.?”

Bucky nodded, watching her. “I knew this place was familiar. I went to college in Virginia, so on weekends we drive up to D.C. and, well,” Darcy flashed him a grin, “let’s just say we were up to no good.”

Bucky shook his head slowly. “I don’t…” He frowned. “I don’t remember any of this.”

Darcy looked at him oddly. “Of course you don’t. It’s about me? Why would you know that about me?”

But as Bucky continued to stare at her in confusion, the pieces to Bucky’s odd behavior came together in Darcy’s mind. She stopped walking. “You still think you made me up. That I’m not really here.”

Unconsciously, Bucky rubbed his wrist where Darcy had briefly held him. “No,” he said quietly. “You’re real. You were able to touch me. Really touch me.” Bucky gave her a piercing look, as if trying to look through her and uncover the secrets she wasn’t revealing. “Steve sent you?”

Darcy nodded before sighing quietly. “I think maybe we should try this again. I did kind of did a shitty job explaining myself, and had you thinking you made me up again. Which, again, I am definitely real. I saved you from a thousand ghosts yesterday, one of them being the beautiful Greta Garbo, which I feel wasn’t so much a terrible thing—minus the whole transparent-floaty ordeal she had going for her. Not her best look.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed in thought. “I was in that nightmare…a real long fucking time. And you got me outta there.”

“I mean, I helped. You did all the work. I just held your hair back and shouted a bit.”

A smile cracked on Bucky’s face. “You got a mouth on you. Darcy, you said?”

“Lewis. Can’t forget the Lewis.”

“Right. Darcy Lewis, want to explain to me how you got yourself in my head while we walk?”

“I’d love to. It all started with an Asgardian prince falling from the sky…”

Bucky frowned. “You mean Thor?”

Darcy paused. “Right, I forgot you know all the Avengers. So you know about Thor, then? How he came here and there were some scientists who helped him out?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said warily.

Darcy pointed at herself, smiling brightly. “Science Thing Two. I research sentiency in astrophysics. You know. Magic and science.”

“And this made you come in my dreams to help me out?”

“Kind of. Tony Stark hired me and my friend to do research in his facility and I sort of…” Darcy trailed. What could she say? _I kept zoning out and finding your hiding spot and it was destiny? That we’re actually soulmates and that’s why this arrangement is sort of working?_ “…stumbled into the job. Steve thought I’d—I’d be a good fit.”

Bucky nodded, silently absorbing this information. Darcy pursed her lips. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

He shook his head. “It’s only fair.”

“Steve said you were cursed and that’s how you got stuck like this, in your mind. How exactly did that happen?”

For a moment Darcy didn’t think he would respond. A shadow fell over his eyes, and a shiver went down Darcy’s back when a sudden chill crept through her. The clouds had darkened, but just as quickly they grew light again. Bucky didn’t meet her gaze when he answered.

“We were at a Hydra base. The last one. They had a witch there, held prisoner with wires stuck in her everywhere.” Darcy paled. Bucky’s eyes flickered to hers. “When we got her out, when I talked her down…she said she owed me a debt.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked, and the plates on his metal arm started shifting and clicking. Darcy watched them ripple in a downward wave with fascination before dragging her eyes back up again. “I couldn’t remember anything else. Went to sleep. And woke up here.” He turned to Darcy. “How long have I been here?”

Darcy chewed on her lower lip, looking at Bucky’s uncertain expression with unease. “I think you’ve been here over three months, Bucky.”

A crack of lightning thundered from the skies, illuminating Bucky’s bewildered expression. Darcy jumped at the sound as the clouds became one massive blanket of grey. “Bucky?”

He was breathing rapidly. “Bucky,” Darcy repeated. She jolted when suddenly they glitched back to Steve and the Winter Soldier battling each other. Darcy swallowed hard and glanced at the fight, when a droplet of water hit her eye. She flinched as rain started to fall in earnest, the heavens tearing apart like an open scar in the clouds.

Fear rippled through her. The dream was becoming unsteady, and it directly had to do with Bucky. He was panicking, and the dream was starting to crumble around them—she could see fragments at the horizon starting to fray and shatter like shards of porcelain, falling and crashing into puffs of nothing. “Bucky, please, you need to calm down. Right now.”

Bucky’s eyes were jammed shut and his hands were held tightly into fists. The whole dream was glitching now—the reality around them flickered in and out as another bolt of lightning cracked in the air. Yet what perturbed her was not the darkening clouds, but the sudden, still silence.

They had stopped fighting. Steve was standing behind him, arms dangling at his sides with his eyes downcast.

The Soldier was staring at her.

“Bucky,” Darcy lowered her voice, her hand reaching out to tug insistently at his jacket. The name made the Soldier’s eyes narrow, and slowly he started towards her.

 _Nothing can hurt me. This is a dream. He can’t hurt me. Nothing can. It’s just a dream_. But the Soldier was gaining, and Darcy was becoming more and more frightened at the deadened look in his eye. “Bucky!” Darcy shouted as the Soldier tilted his head and raised his gun.

The sound of a gunshot was still reverberating through Darcy when the world around them changed. It was instantaneous; gone were the crumbling skies and darkening roads, the battle-worn Soldier and Steve. The dream had changed.

They were standing somewhere on a cliff of a mountain range. Snow swirled violently around them. Bucky was still shaking next to Darcy, and Darcy tentatively reached out to stroke his arm. “Hey,” she said quietly. “Hey, it’s okay. Nothing will happen to you in here, right? You’re okay.”

A strange sound came from the distance, making Darcy pause. It sounded rapid and too far away to make out. It almost sounded like…an engine, pulsing back and forth.

Still running her hand comfortingly down Bucky’s arm, Darcy squinted up through the snow. The sound had changed. It sounded like…like screaming…and then it stopped.

Darcy screamed when a body fell before their feet.

“Oh my god.” Darcy stumbled forward, dropping to her knees. Blood, there was a river of blood running through the snow, white and red mixing around the man. A man with a severed arm and brown hair windblown around his face. A face that was, unmistakably, Bucky Barnes.

Darcy glanced up at the real Bucky who was still standing. His attention had finally focused away from his thoughts and onto the new scene. The memory of him falling, falling, dying. But no, not dying. Which would mean…

“Jesus,” Darcy whispered as she heard a troop of men shouting in the distance. There were men coming and the memory was advancing and Darcy had no idea what the fuck she was doing here seeing all this. This wasn’t meant for her. She was never meant to see this. This was wrong, this was all wrong, and there was nothing Darcy could do to stop this or fix it or go back in time and erase this. Darcy looked up at Bucky and pleaded, “Please _,_ Bucky. Don’t stay here.”

The men walked through the small clearing where they were. Bucky was wheezing brokenly, his lungs likely collapsed and ribs broken. Every breath sounded like agony, like death waiting on his heels. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth as his eyes fluttered open. The second he saw the men he moaned a small, helpless sound.

Darcy watched as he mustered the very last shred of his remaining strength and reached for the knife strapped to his belt. He gripped it weakly, gingerly. With equally weak movements he brought it up. Up, up, until the blade was pressed to his neck.

Suddenly the knife was kicked away from Bucky’s hand. “No need for that, soldier,” a man in Soviet uniform said to him. “You are with us now.”

Darcy looked away when they dragged his body away, a crimson trail following behind him.

The dream changed again.

In place of a mountain range was a small room with flickering fluorescent lights overhead. A chair stood in the center of it. Latches and straps and machinery surrounded and attached to it, with a monitor to the right and an IV stand on the left.

Slowly, Bucky walked to the chair and turned to sit. In a swift move he shrugged off his jacket and shirt, letting them fall to the floor. He stretched back and placed his arms on the elbow pads before staring at the wall. Like the dream with the ghosts, this one had Bucky as an active participant instead of passively watching his past-self. Darcy’s eyes traced up the metal arm to where his skin was scarred and healed, a meshwork of lines and raised skin too far removed from the perfection they must have been trying to recreate in him, _of_ him.

Darcy glanced around the room carefully. There were cabinets and light screens on the wall with X-rays plastered on them. Scans of a male, of a heart and a leg and abdominal sections. “Bucky, what is this?”

A door opened. A man dressed in a lab coat came in and sat at the stool next to Bucky. He began pulling the straps over Bucky’s wrists and locked him in the arm latches, keeping him in place. Darcy watched in horror as Bucky willingly opened his mouth and let the man stuff in a mouth guard. “What is he doing?” Darcy asked, panicking. She didn’t want to see this. Whatever this was, she didn’t…she froze when the man reached over and pulled an oval machine over Bucky’s head.

“No. No, no, no no nonono _no!_ ” Darcy lurched forward when electricity crackled from the machine and Bucky began screaming. She ripped through the straps binding him and desperately pulled at his arms. “Get up! Get—UP!”

It felt like an eternity, watching the scenes play out—Bucky, the wiring in his metal arm exposed and frayed, and a different man fixing it up—Bucky, throwing off three guards as they tried forcing him into the chair, his teeth bared and seething with rage—Bucky, his eyes watering as they erased everything that he was.

She watched it all play out with her hands still clamped down on his wrists, urging him up and out of the chair. Darcy reached over and shoved the oval machinery away from his head with a violent hit. Her hand left his wrist to cup his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. “You listen to me right now. Get. Up. Bucky.”

Something in Bucky’s eyes focused on her and he held his breath. Darcy stared back at him, confused as his eyes looked searchingly through hers. “Bucky,” she said again, her voice softer. The dream shimmered around them, and Darcy looked up to see a vision herself.

The dream was glistening like glitter. The chair was still there as was the room it was in—but like a technicolor photograph a second layer appeared, a vision over a dream. A vision of Darcy.

She was crying. Her hair was pinned and she was waving with one hand, and the other was tightly clutching a cross pendant. Darcy realized she was seeing this through the lens of the past Bucky when she saw him lean out over a window—a window that was moving. A train.

Darcy reeled back as she watched them kiss frantically through the window as the dream shimmered away. Bucky, the real Bucky, was staring at her with widened eyes.

Did he see what Darcy had just seen?

The question faded from her mind as the dream flickered again. The bridge. They were standing and Darcy’s hands were still where she’d left them on Bucky; clutching his wrist and cupping his jaw. Pressing her lips in a grim line, Darcy met his gaze steady on.  

“Hey. Look at me.” Bucky forced himself to meet her eyes. “We just saw three different memories. All terrible. There is a pattern here and your mind is trying to make you see it. They were awful, Bucky.”

“They were awful,” Bucky said, echoing Darcy’s words. “I feel…”

He didn’t finish, and he didn’t need to. She could feel it. She could feel his anguish course through her where they touched, like liquid fire simmering through their veins. It was terrible and consuming and she felt guilt, so much guilt and misery and robbed of his life.

“The three months. That’s what made you start to change dreams. You’ve lost more time of your life, again. And this,” Darcy glanced below the bridge where Steve and the Soldier were fighting again. “You feel guilt for this. And loss. Just like the train, and the chair. All coming back to…to…”

“I shouldn’t be alive,” Bucky said quietly. “It would have been better, if I was not alive.”

The train, Bucky’s blade on his neck. The chair, the suffering and the Soldier he became each time he sat in it. Nearly murdering his only living friend.  

“You’re alive because you were meant to be alive,” said Darcy. “You were always going to survive that fall. You were always going to live beyond your time.”

“I shouldn’t have. It would have made it easier.”

Darcy shook her head and moved closer, until she could feel his breath on her skin. “That’s not how it works, Bucky,” she said softly. “We come into this world without a choice, and we leave this world without a choice. That isn’t your fault. It has never been your fault.”

Bucky closed his eyes, his body tense against hers. She feels his hands slowly come up to her arms, holding her as she was holding him. Quietly, he exhaled.

The dream melted away. It was different this time, not a switch or a change but a dissolving, something akin to what happened the last time she was in Bucky’s unconscious. The world was turning dark and Bucky was folding, falling—Darcy caught him by the arms but ended up kneeling down with him until he was laid out, unconscious.

Panic rose as the dream ended—she should go. Darcy didn’t want to know what would happen if she stayed too long when Bucky was asleep like this, a _true_ state of sleep. Whatever he’d been feeling, he must have resolved it. And now his mind was going to rest.

She needed to go, but something made Darcy pause. She waited, kneeling next to Bucky’s body as darkness encroached around them. Yet something strange happened—from the darkness came soft light, as if candlelight was glimmering around them. Darcy’s mouth parted when a new terrain unveiled around her—an endless plain of pathways and small little lights.

“Holy shit,” Darcy whispered as she beheld the true state of Bucky’s unconscious, and the many paths it could lead to. It was too much to take in, too much all at once and exhaustion was creeping inside Darcy that could not be ignored. _Next time_ , she thought to herself. She’d visit this place next time.

Licking her lips, Darcy checked on Bucky again. Fast asleep, and some sort of bed had formed around him. Nodding to herself, Darcy closed her eyes and willed herself to wake up.

**-:-**

The moment Darcy’s eyes opened, Steve was in front of her.

“What happened?” Steve demanded. “He was shaking, breathing all wrong. What happened in there?”

Darcy let Bucky’s hand slip from hers. Overwhelming tiredness came over her, and Darcy looked away.

“That’s for him to tell you, not me. Goodnight, Steve.”

Without another word, Darcy slipped from the bed and left the tower, a sense of dread filling her as she thought of everything she had seen.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:
> 
> -There is no allotted chapter number anymore. The outline of this fic is the same but, wow. If I were to go according to plan, this update would be 20k. And yeah, we need to elongate this fic a bit. :)  
> -I dropped many hints in this chapter. And a very big one. EEEEE  
> -The Slow Build is strong in this fic....  
> -I'm so sorry for the wait but I swear guys I've been writing and I've written tons of wintershock fics since the last time I updated this, so there's that at least! :D  
> -Unbeta'd (for now), so all mistakes are mine and will be fixed ASAP.
> 
> Let me know what you thought! xx


End file.
